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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24677212">An Average Day At Three Beans Cafe</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Schweet/pseuds/Schweet'>Schweet</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Original Work</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Based on a True Story, Customer Service, Humor, Original Fiction</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 06:40:54</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,225</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24677212</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Schweet/pseuds/Schweet</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Everything in this story has happened to me at least once</p>
            </div></td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>An Average Day At Three Beans Cafe</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>7:21 a.m.</b>
</p><p>BZZZZ BZZZZZ BZZZZ</p><p>I quickly turned off the alarm and sat up, looking out the window. <em>Hmm, it’s a lot brighter than usual this morning. That’s nice. </em> I raised my arms above my head and stretched. <em>It’ll be nice to open the cafe in the sunshine today. I might even get the key in the lock on the first try. </em>I threw back the covers and checked the time on my phone, at peace with the early morning calm.</p><p>“SHIT,” I flew out of my bed and pulled on a pair of jeans before hastily tugging an over- sized sweatshirt over my tie dye t- shirt from yesterday. Hey, with a sweater on no one will know, right? Jumping over discarded clothes upon the floor, I slid into the hallway and flung myself around the corner into the bathroom. I tied my hair into a messy bun and brushed my teeth for the longest two minutes of my life.</p><p>“Time check, time check, please only be 7:25, please,” I turned on my phone to check the time. “Yes! 7:24, okay, it only takes five minutes to get there, okay, I can do this.”</p><p>I ran downstairs and grabbed my bag, nearly sending my keys flying as I snatched them from the table before running to the front door. My cat chose that exact moment to dive between my moving legs, and as I was unable to stop my momentum, I proceeded to punt my cat across the kitchen. I let out a horrified yell only for my cat to come back at me full speed and pounce upon my ankle peeking out from underneath the hem of my cuffed jeans. He happily gnawed on my exposed skin as I tried to shake him off.</p><p>“Come on Bandit, I don’t have time for this!” I lifted my right leg into the air, hoping he would let go, but he only stuck his nails in deeper. “Gah! You stupid cat! I love you, but oh my GOD do I wish I’d picked a Betta fish instead of you right now!”</p><p>With my leg flailing in the air, I wrapped my hands around the black and white hellbeast and gradually managed to pull him off. I flung him into the living room and raced for the front door. I threw it open and then slammed it behind me, a split second later I heard a thud that could only have been my idiot cat running headfirst into the now closed door.</p><p>I quickly locked the door and stumbled down the hill to my car. I threw my bag into the back row and jumped into the driver’s seat before peeling out of my small, quiet neighbourhood. The clock still only read 7:25.</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>7:27 a.m.</b>
</p><p>Not many people were up and about this early on a Friday morning, which made my drive to work a bit quicker. Then I saw all the red tail lights.</p><p>“What is this?” I screeched, having completely forgotten that the elementary school down the road from my house starts the day at 7:30 a.m.</p><p>A long trail of cars stretched in front of the school, with a few school buses thrown in for good measure. At least the line was moving, though. I inched along behind a school bus until it finally turned into the bus loop and got out of my way. I was about 100 feet from the crosswalk when the crossing guard jumped into the road and furiously blew her whistle. I gently pressed my brakes, aiming to stop ten to fifteen feet away from the crosswalk. But, no, that was too close. That crossing guard just stood there blowing her whistle at me, angrily waving her hands in the air, her face screwed up in a righteous fury bestowed upon her by a neon vest. I finally gave up and stopped 40 feet from the crosswalk. She snickered. <em> Screw you too. </em></p><p> </p><p>
  <b>7:34 a.m.</b>
</p><p>I locked the side door behind me, having finally made it to the cafe. Only 4 minutes late, that’s not too bad. I tossed my bag onto a nearby table and went behind the counter to turn on the lights and the espresso machine. I heated up the oatmeal from yesterday as I unwrapped the baked goods. <em> Dang son, those cookies look real good. They were made yesterday, so they’re fresh too! </em> Since I hadn’t had breakfast yet, and probably wouldn’t get a chance to eat again until two p.m., I grabbed one of those delicious looking maple brown sugar cookies with the icing on top and proceeded to have a very lovely breakfast. The sugary icing stuck to my fingers as the cookie crumbled in my mouth and all over my sweater. I hastily brushed the crumbs off only to leave a mess on the floor. <em> Ugh, really? </em> I shoved the last of the cookie into my mouth and went to find the broom.</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>7:52 a.m.</b>
</p><p>I sipped my honey- cinnamon iced latte, satisfied that I had completed everything before I had to open at 8 a.m. I literally and metaphorically patted myself on the back. My hand was mid- pat when I realized I had forgotten to turn the coffee machine on. It takes fifteen minutes to warm up.</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>7:58 a.m.</b>
</p><p>I wiped down the counter, ensuring it glistened with the elbow grease of an underpaid employee when I heard a knock from the side door. Not just any kind of knock mind you, a very loud knock, a knock like there was a horde of zombies three feet away and they were at the last hold- out of humanity but also covered in barbeque sauce. It was a very desperate knock.</p><p>“Fuck off, we’re not open yet,” I mumbled to myelf, not yet brave enough to yell that directly at a customer’s face. Someday I would get there, but that day was not today.</p><p>The knock sounded again. I gleefully ignored it, letting the violent thuds lull me into a peaceful haze as I picked out a Spotify station for the day. <em> Lo-fi or jazz? Hmm, better play it safe and go with jazz again. </em></p><p> </p><p>
  <b>8:00 a.m.</b>
</p><p>At precisely 8 a.m. I unlocked the front door and then the side door. A middle-aged woman with a haircut that was already asking to see the manager immediately swung open the door and marched inside. I barely made it to safety behind the counter before she was upon me.</p><p>“Welcome to Three Beans Cafe, how can I-”</p><p>“I’ve been outside knocking on the door for the past five mintes!” she shouted.</p><p>I knew that that wasn’t true, it had only been two minutes, but I wasn’t about to tell her that.</p><p>“Really? Oh, I’m sorry ma’am, I was in the kitchen so I didn’t hear you.”</p><p>“Well, aren't you going to do something about it?”</p><p>“About what, ma’am?” <em> Dear God, don’t do it. </em></p><p>“About me being locked outside in the cold rain before you finally decided to open the door!” She placed her hands on her wide hips. “Can’t you give me anything?”</p><p>
  <em> Lord strike me down, I’ve had enough. </em>
</p><p>“Ma’am we don’t unlock the doors until 8 a.m., when we open, because of safety concerns.” <em> Not entirely true, but screw it, I’m here alone and I’m not dealing with you people until I absolutely have to. </em></p><p>“8 a.m.?! That’s so late! What if I needed a coffee at 7:30?”</p><p><em> Well then I guess you could just go somewhere else. </em> “That is when the owner decided we should open.”</p><p>She huffed, clearly perturbed she would not be getting a free drink out of this encounter, “Fine, just give me a vanilla Americano with a double shot and make it with coconut milk.” <em> But Americano’s are made with water? Do you mean a latte? </em></p><p> </p><p>
  <b>8:30 a.m.</b>
</p><p>I’m scrolling through Tumblr when my co- worker walks into the kitchen.</p><p>“Hey girl, how’s it been so far?”</p><p>I slip my phone back into my pocket and smile at her, “Pretty slow, one person came in right at 8, but other than that there’s been no one.”</p><p>Alex hummed in response, hanging her bag on the hook by the bathroom door. “Still playing jazz, huh?” She pointed to the speaker in the service room.</p><p>“I don’t trust any of the other stations, this is the only one that I know for sure is safe. You know how picky she is about the music and whatnot.”</p><p>The owner insisted we play strictly rated G music, no bad words and no “inappropriate” themes. So that basically ruled out all modern pop or hip hop songs, you know, all the fun songs. Ever since I started working here, I've been terrified of breaking this rule of hers, on the off- chance that she comes in when Ed Sheeran or Ariana Grande are playing and decides to fire me for playing “inappropriate music”.</p><p>Alex waved off my concerns with a small movement of her incredibly well manicured hand, the glitter on her nails glimmering under the yellow fluorescent lights. “Well, I hate jazz so I’m changing it anyway.”</p><p>She proceeded to switch the station mid song, which really wasn’t a problem since there were no customers in the store, but it irked me anyway. Not to mention the fact that she changed it to an acoustic indie station, yuck. I leaned against the wall as the shrieking tones of a wanna- be hipster band echoed around the empty cafe.</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>10:30 a.m.</b>
</p><p>“I swear they plan it in advance,” I whispered to Alex as we watched the crowd decide what they wanted to order. “No one all day and now there’s, what, twenty people here, all at once?”</p><p>“Cheryl Anne, can you count?” Alex glanced at me in concern, “There’s eight people here.”</p><p>Before I could save what was left of my dignity by not responding, the group at the counter decided they were ready to order. I walked over with my best customer service smile, and welcomed them to our coffeehouse. Then the chaos began.</p><p>“I want a caramel macchiato with three shots of espresso-”</p><p>“I want a drip coffee with-”</p><p>“Make it with almond milk-”</p><p>“-I like more syrup than what you usually-”</p><p>I stared at the group in front of me with abject horror. Alex stuck her head out from the kitchen in awe. We had found them, the worst kind of people. The people who order all at once.</p><p>“-And I want it extra hot, you never make it hot enough.”</p><p>“My God,” Alex’s voice drifted across the room like a lifeline for a drowning sailor, reminding me I wasn’t alone in the hell hole that was customer service.</p><p>“I’m sorry, could you please repeat that,” the group drew a collective breath and I threw up a hand, panicking, “One at a time though, please.” <em> Please for the love of God go one at a time. </em></p><p>Nine drinks and eight breakfast sandwiches later, Alex and I stared at the destruction wrought upon the espresso bar and the tiny kitchen.</p><p>“We only have three eggs left, just so you know,” Alex ran a hand across her forehead, smearing the remnants of a raw egg along her hairline.</p><p>“Doesn’t the Cisco order come tomorrow?”</p><p>“No, it comes Wednesday.”</p><p>“We are so screwed.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>12:03 p.m.</b>
</p><p>A lady yelled at me because she wanted her coffee in a mug but I gave it to her in a to- go cup. I cried.</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>12:05 p.m.</b>
</p><p>I sat on the toilet in the minisclue closet we called the staff bathroom with my earbuds blasting Post Malone, trying to hype myself back up. I couldn’t let them see me cry, customers are like wild animals. If they smell your weakness, they’ll pounce.</p><p>I took a deep breath and put my earbuds back in my pocket, gripping my phone so tightly my knuckles turned white, and stepped back out into the cafe. My ears were still ringing with the vigorous beats and rough voice of Post, so the calm energy of Alex’s acoustic indie hit me like a wall of bricks. <em> Oh my gosh, that’s a rough vibe switch. </em></p><p>I closed the bathroom door behind me and turned around to see Alex.</p><p>“You alright?”</p><p>I nodded, letting her see my pain.</p><p>“Girl, next time someone does that, come get me, I’m used to dealing with people like that. I’ve become numb, they can’t hurt me anymore.”</p><p>I smiled at Alex, thanking her for her gracious offer of self- sacrifice. I picked up my latte and took a sip. <em> Mmmm, watered down coffee. Just what I needed right now. </em></p><p>“Hey, since there’s no one here right now, except for that rude lady out on the front porch, want to listen to some Disney music?”</p><p>I set my disappointing latte back down on the shelf for employee drinks and nodded eagerly. Alex whooped in excitement and pulled her phone out, scrolling through her playlists to find the one she wanted.</p><p><em> The Lion King’s </em> “I Just Can’t Wait To Be King” started blasting from her phone’s crappy speakers. But we did not care about the audio quality. We danced along to Simba’s pre- pubescent vocals, almost drowning him out with gleeful, and terribly off- key, voices of our own. Alex stepped out from behind the bar out into the service room. She waltzed over to a nearby table and sat down in one of its chairs, dramatically throwing herself backwards and nearly toppling over. I continued my dance behind the counter.</p><p>“Kings don’t need advice from little hornbills for a start!” Alex sang.</p><p>“If this is where the monarchy is headed, count me out!” I mimicked Zazu’s bossy voice as best I could. “Out of service, out of Africa, I wouldn’t hang about!” I wagged a finger at Alex.</p><p>Alex threw her hands out, nearly knocking over the water jug behind her, “This child is getting wildly out of wiiiiing!”</p><p>We took a deep breath, “OH, I JUST CAN’T WAIT TO BE KING!” The beer bottles on the shelf behind me quivered at our musical prowess, nearly shattering at the magnitude of our voices.</p><p>I shimmied down the length of the counter. Alex pumped her arms from where she sat.</p><p>“Everybody look left!” Alex spun to the left.</p><p>“Everybody look right!” I jerked my head over my right shoulder.</p><p>“Everywhere you look,” Alex and I turned around to face each other.</p><p>“I’m standing spotlight!” I flung my arms out dramatically, striking a better pose than Rihanna ever could.</p><p>A quiet cough sounded from the entrance to the room. Alex fumbled for her phone and I turned my head, arms still flung wide. In the doorway stood an older man in a suit and tie. A very serious looking man. Alex finally managed to stop the very loud music.</p><p>I dropped my arms and brushed a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “Hello sir, what can I get for you today?</p><p>The man crossed the room, glancing uncomfortably at Alex, who was bent over the table in silent laughter. He looked at me, looked at Alex, then back at me and asked, “Just an iced coffee with room for cream please.”</p><p>“Of course!” I quickly poured him his drink and he eagerly left. I looked over at Alex’s beet red face and burst into laughter. <em> If I can look a man dead in the eye after he caught me mid- choreography to The Lion King’s “I Just Can’t Wait To Be King”, I can do anything. </em></p><p> </p><p>
  <b>1:45 p.m.</b>
</p><p>Alex and I were in the kitchen prepping vegetables and sauces for the next day when we heard a pair of very excited voices. I pulled the cheap plastic gloves off my sweaty hands and told Alex I would take care of their orders. Alex gladly got back to shaving the carrots.</p><p>I walked back into the service room and stood behind the cash register, welcoming the two women to our cafe. The two women turned to me, obviously eager to order so they could sit down and catch up.</p><p>“Hi! Lovely day isn’t it! I want a coffee but I probably shouldn’t have one, I had one this morning, I need something to calm me down, do you guys have hot chocolate?”</p><p>I reeled at the pace of this woman’s words, she could rival Eminem in words per minute. “Uhh, yeah, yes we have hot chocolate, would you like it with or without cinnamon and nutmeg?”</p><p>“OOOOooohhhh, let’s go with cinnamon and nutmeg, I bet that makes it taste even better. Oh, and some whip cream, can’t have hot chocolate without whip cream!” The woman laughed hysterically, and her eyes gleamed with the look of a rabid raccoon. “And make it a large!”</p><p>I nodded, slightly terrified of this woman, and marked down the specifications for her drink. I looked up at her friend.</p><p>“Just a small cappuccino for me please,” her soft voice and apologetic eyes a drastic difference from her friend.</p><p>“Okay, I’ll call out your drinks when they’re ready,” I said, trying to ease away the extremely hyper woman and her friend, but she was not done with me yet.</p><p>“I really need this hot chocolate, it will help me feel like I’ve got my day started properly.” She slapped a hand against her friend’s arm, “She dragged me out of the house before I was even ready!”</p><p>The woman pointed to her waist and pulled her shirt halfway up her chest, revealing her beltline. She pulled on the end of her loose belt with a free hand, drawing my attention. Her pants were fully unzipped and her belt was hanging down to her thighs. I could see her underwear. She wanted to show me her underwear. Her lacy red thong underwear. I looked back up at the woman’s face, not knowing how to proceed, nor able to process what was occurring.</p><p>“Hey Alex?” My voice shook as I called for backup.</p><p>
  <b>2:00 p.m.</b>
</p><p>Layla came in to relieve me, and good lord she could not have come sooner. There were no words to describe how today had gone. I felt as if the gods were laughing at me, throwing the worst possible customers at me all during one shift for their own entertainment. All I wanted to do was go home, take a nap, and cry.</p><p>I walked out the door of the cafe in a haze, sipping what was left of my iced coffee, not really seeing where I was going. I glanced up at the cloudy sky, it looked like it was going to rain. I hoped it would wait until I got home. I stepped down the stairs leading to the sidewalk and the old wood sagged underneath my feet. <em> Man, we need to fix these steps. They feel like they’re going to break at any second. </em></p><p>Distracted by my thoughts, I missed the final step, buckling my knees as I lost my balance. I hit the sidewalk hard, my shoulder driving into the concrete, the plastic cup containing my iced coffee splattering against the ground.</p><p>“Shit,” I groaned.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I swear, customers are a nightmare and co-workers are a gift from God</p></blockquote></div></div>
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